


Like Whiskey

by mjoInir



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Dean Winchester Deserves Nice Things, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Language, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Semi-established relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-15 06:14:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17523425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mjoInir/pseuds/mjoInir
Summary: In which, Juliana finds herself back in the hunting business with an old lover, racing to save the world from the apocalypse while trying to heal some old wounds.





	1. Agent Lennon

The funny thing about Juliana Montgomery was that no one knew much about her, but she could make you feel like you were her best friend in the whole world. Not where she came from, not why she was sitting pretty in Queens, New York; no one even knew much to anything about her family. She even had her last name changed to Lennon because she didn't want anyone to do any digging on her past. She barely contacted those back home, and she barely let anyone into her life — with only few exceptions of a handful of friends. And even they did not know much about her.

After starting college later in life, she decided to head into the police academy. There, she excelled, passed every test they threw at her with flying colors. She became top of her class, beating out all of the boys in every physical test that they happened to throw her way. She was an excellent marksman, and when everyone went to ask her how, she simply just explained that her father had been in the military and thought it right to teach his daughter how to shoot a gun. 

Juliana even knew her way around the law, before she even began taking classes. She'd later say that you have to know the rules so you know how to break them, and that had always been her philosophy. So it wasn't all that hard to believe that the rough-and-tumble girl got her badge at twenty-four and began working with New York's finest. Surprisingly enough, she moved up the ranks to detective in just a year; it just seemed like the girl had a knack for solving crimes and looking at things at a different angle that usually always caught the criminal.

Eventually, Juliana went down to Washington and sought after a career in the FBI. And she got exactly that.

The fact remained that the girl had been raised a hunter, and grew up knowing how to kill anything that went bump in the night. She had her own collection of silver knives, salt rounds sat beside her regular ammo, she had stacks of books in her apartment with strange lore, and a second language in Latin. She was strange to just about everyone she met.

Juliana sat at her desk, flicking over the files and filling out her paperwork. She would be clocking in overtime, but she needed the money — credit card fraud wasn't a thing she could do anymore. She had passed her background check, sure, her record was squeaky clean, but that did not mean she did not get into trouble. She was just very good at hiding it.

She left her hunting life, along with everyone she had ever known in it, behind. That life left her raw and broken, and she went in search for more meaning — for the white picket fence she had always dreamed about. Juliana was positive that no one from her old life knew where she was, or if she was alive, and she intended to keep it that way. She certainly did not want hunters sniffing around her business and asking for favors.

"Julia, we're all going out to a bar, wanna join?" asked her partner, Robert Nunez, who was a Special Agent for the FBI Intelligence Specialist Unit, and was currently Juliana's mentor.

She was the rookie in the unit, and she knew she had to make friends with her co-workers (it simply made the environment better to work in and trust was the foundation, because one day, your life could be in someone else's hands). "I've got a lot of paper work to finish, mind if I meet up with you guys in, say, an hour?"

Robert smiled, "Sure, I'll text you where we end up heading,"

"Thank you," and she got back to her work.

They had just closed a case, and Juliana wanted to make sure she got all of her work finished in a timely fashion, as to look good to her superiors, and to make a good impression on the unit. When Robert texted her the address for the pub they went to, she told him she would meet them there in twenty minutes, but that was when her other phone went off. It was the only way to contact her mother, and sure it was sketchy to literally everyone, but she did not want her old life to resurface in case anyone happened to look at her phone records. Her mother's number was the only one saved, and the only one she would answer, seeing her mother was the only one who had it (mostly just for emergencies only).

The number that flickered across the screen was not one she recognized, and so she hung up on them, sending whoever it was to her voicemail. She got up from her desk, said a few goodbyes on her way out of the unit, and gussied herself up in the bathroom. She had her hair tied back, a blouse and a pencil skirt, her jacket slung over her arm. She touched up her makeup, and made her way out of the Quantico building, hoping to look like she did not just come from work (but it was pretty obvious that she did).

Her personal phone rang again as she got into her car, a four door Jeep that was one of the only reminders of her old life traveling across the country, hunting monsters. With a frown, she declined the call again and threw the phone back into her purse.

The bar was crowded, even for a Friday night, but Juliana made her way to her co-workers. They each had a beer in hand, glancing at the television in between talk about work. She was thankful to talk about work, as literally anything else was a slippery slope for her.

"Julia!" they chorused, smiles on their faces.

"Hey," Juliana said awkwardly as she sat down, ordering herself a beer, as to not look too out of the loop. Her drink of choice was typically bourbon, but she did not mind brandy either.

The conversation quickly turned from work, to finding out more about the rookie, and it took everything in Juliana to not give herself away through body language.

"Yeah! We don't know much about what you did before you joined the NYPD." said Evan Kline, one of the older men in their unit.

Juliana pursed her lips, "Not much to tell, really," she paused, "Actually kind'a boring."

Marie Hansen rolled her eyes, "Come on, Lennon, give us some details."

She frowned, "I was born in Austin, Texas, but my dad was military, so we moved around a lot. Got stuck in a little town, as a waitress and I decided I wanted out. I wanted more from my life. Not all that interesting, guys."

"Sounds more like you're on the run from something," Henry laughed, taking a swig of his drink.

Juliana froze, eyes going down to the table, and she grabbed her drink. She took a long sip, making the table fall silent.

"If it's a crazy ex, we can kill him,"

"Marie!"

"Oh, shut up, Nunez," Marie rolled her eyes.

Ben, the rookie before Juliana joined, agreed, "Yeah, come on, Robbie. Nobody fucks with one of our own."

"We're federal agents, you fucks." Robert shook his head, but then he offered Juliana a sly smile, "But seriously, if it's a crazy ex, we can make it look like an accident,"

The table erupted into laughter, cheers and clinking of glasses making Juliana take a relieved sigh and smile. "No crazy ex — well not necessarily," she chuckled, fiddling with her bottle of beer. "Not really running — just want to keep the past in the past."

Robert nodded in agreement, "I'll drink to that,"

"To the future!" Marie cheered, raising her bottle, to which everyone clinked and took a drink.

* * *

Juliana made her way up the stairs, to her third floor one-bedroom apartment. One of her neighbors, a pregnant accountant, usually got in late during the latter part of the week.

"Hey, Julie, late night?" Heather smiled, a hand resting on her fourth month bump.

"No," she chuckled, "Went out to a bar with my co-workers, actually,"

"Oh, that's nice, I could go for a glass of wine," Heather giggled, "but instead, I'm having a glass of cranberry juice and going to bed."

"Well, you enjoy that. Have a good night, Heather," Juliana said, unlocking her door and slipping away inside.

She went to flick on her light, but noticed the light switch was up, when she normally made sure it was down — meaning someone had turned on the light and then used the lamp switch in the living room to turn it back off. Something very, very small that she did — thanks to the paranoia of her old life. Juliana put a hand on her gun and then flicked the light on, illuminating the room.

Across from her stood a man, broad shouldered with a worn-in brown leather jacket. He felt familiar. He set down a bottle of bourbon he must have grabbed from her pantry, turning to face her, and she drew her weapon.

"Dean?"

The man only grinned, "Hey, Jules,"


	2. Dean Winchester

"Hey, Jules,"

She did not lower her gun, "What the fuck are you doing here, Winchester?"

"Aren't you happy to see me?" His smile did not waver.

"You have a goddamn death wish breaking into my home?"

He shrugged and picked up the bottle of bourbon, "You always get the good stuff,"

Juliana sighed, holstering her weapon and throwing her jacket onto the couch. She removed the hairband from her hair and let it rest on her wrist. She placed a hand on her hip and stared at the man.

"How did you find me?"

He took a swig of the alcohol, "I know you like the back of my hand; wasn't all that hard to guess that you moved, changed your name — not all that surprised it ended up being the name of your favorite Beatle — and got a job at what you're good at." He paused, "But really, Jules? The Feds?"

"Stop calling me that." She walked up to him, still being shorter then him, even in her heels and grabbed the bottle from his grip. She took a long gulp, deciding she was not drunk enough to have a conversation with the man.

"I'm the only one who can call you that," he told her with a frown, as it was a nickname he had given her after all their time together. No one other than him ever referred to her by that nickname — no one had the history, or the right to.

Juliana narrowed her gray eyes at Dean before taking a step back, uncomfortable with how close they had just been. She had wanted to leave all that in the past. She may have loved him, undeniably and unconditionally, and even with the time apart, the love did not seem to waver, but she pushed those ridiculous thoughts aside.

"Get _out_."

"Aren't you gonna ask why I'm here?"

"Do you ever need a reason? I figured you came back to haunt me after I got out."

Hurt flashed in his eyes, momentarily, and now he was certain: this was not the Juliana he had come to know all those years ago. Here she stood, marred from her past, but she was running from it. She molded herself a new life, one without hunting, one without him. He knew she would not be the same Juliana he traveled around the country with, not with the state they left each other in, with raw and festering wounds neither of them seemed to let heal. They were alike in that way — ignoring the hurt inside.

"Jules—"

"Get. Out."

Dean didn't budge.

"Get out or I swear to God, I _will_ arrest you for breaking and entering."

Dean put his hands up in defeat, "Alright, alright, _Jesus_. Call me when you're ready to stop running."

Juliana watched him leave distastefully. She bolted her door after him, and took another gulp from the bottle. She wanted to cry, frankly, because Dean brought some memories she did not care to recall. Their last interaction had left them both in tears, and that was when she walked out and decided not to look back.

She noticed a card laying on the end table, and she knew it was one of Dean's, from one of his stolen identities. When she picked it up to throw it in the trash, she saw that it was one claiming Dean was from Homeland Security (he probably just grabbed one at random).

Juliana went to bed in her work clothes, not at all caring about what would happen come morning. She just wanted to forget.

* * *

The morning came too quickly, and Juliana — who had finished all of her paperwork — was allotted the day off (unless anything came up regarding any of their open cases). Her head hurt, but not nearly as much as it had in the past due to hangovers, she did not drink enough for a bad one. She made herself pancakes after changing into a pair of sweats, flicking on the television and ate her breakfast.

Her work phone rang, and she sighed. She had not had a full Saturday off in nearly two months. But the constant work kept her focused. "Go for Agent Lennon,"

 _"Lennon, it's Peters,"_ her supervisor, _"That case you were looking into, he struck again last night in Baltimore,"_

"What?"

After hearing all the details, she decided that this was not a human murderer (and thief), and after staring at the crime scene photos for what seemed like hours, but was really only an hour and a half, she knew she needed a new pair of eyes.

Unfortunately, the closest hunter in the area was going to be Dean, so she had to go back to her apartment and get his stupid card. She was not all that thrilled having to contact him. But she dialed his number despite her pride.

"Hey, Dean," she said when she heard that he picked up.

 _"Jules, hey,"_ he breathed out, not really believing she had called back so soon. But he grinned. _"Couldn't stay away, huh?"_

"Stuff it, Winchester," she said, rolling her eyes. "I've got a case I need you to look into."

_"So, I'm your errand boy now?"_

"Dean, I swear to God," she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Just meet me in a half hour at Someday Cafe. I don't want you in my home again."

_"Touchy, touchy,"_

She hung up, and went to get into her everyday clothes so she didn't look so obvious. Giving a normal citizen a file from the FBI was actually quite frowned upon. She jumped into the driver's seat of her Jeep and headed to the cafe.

Juliana knew that if Dean saw anything, then she was going have to invite one of his stolen identities onto the case. Sometimes, two hunters could be better than one, and maybe that would satisfy Dean enough so he could leave her alone.

When she walked in, Dean was already seated in the corner, a cup of coffee in his hand, and one across from him. She assumed he ordered her one, and she sighed. Stupid Dean being stupid and kind.

She sat down, sliding the folder across to him. "It started a month ago, with just robberies every few days. The sulfur was what made me start paying attention. But then bodies started piling up."

Dean flicked through the crime scene photos, "'Praise our Creator'?" He raised an eyebrow. "I've never heard demon stealing for the sake of it. Killing, on the other hand."

"That's why I'm thinking he got a partner, which is even weirder. I've never seen demons working in pairs before."

"Well, uh, the world got a whole lot stranger."

Juliana's eyes met Dean's, and she held them, "What does that mean?"

"That's why I'm in town, actually. Why I went searching for you." Dean rubbed his jaw and closed the folder.

"Spill." was all she needed to say.

Dean nodded, "Well, a Devil's Gate was accidentally opened and a lot of things got out."

"Got out?" Her eyebrows raised before they furrowed. "How the fuck—"

"Yeah, take a second to process that."

"Why is my gut telling me you had a part to play in that?"

"Because you have good gut instincts." Dean waved off his comment, adding, "We tried to prevent the whole thing, slipped up, but were able to close the Gate back up."

Juliana let out a long sigh, placing her head in her hands and rubbing her forehead. "That's why demon activity spiked. Fucking Hell."

"I was hoping to get some extra hands in the fight," _Plus, I really wanted to see you again before my year's up,_ Dean thought with a frown.

"That's not my fight anymore, Dean. I walked away, remember?—"

"Yes, I remember," Dean told her, his tone edging on angry.

Juliana took a long breath through her nose, sipping her coffee (mocha latte, her favorite, and she was surprised Dean remembered).

"Look, either you can help me out, and then _maybe_ I can help you out."

The corner of Dean's lips quirked up slightly, and he opened up the file again.

* * *

Dean told her he would look into the file, and Juliana went home. She barely got an hour of sleep when her supervisor called, telling her the Creator criminal had struck yet again, only this time in a bank in the heart of D.C. He told her to get there as soon as she could, and that the unit would meet her there.

She called Dean shortly after getting out of bed. She didn't even wait for him to say hello, "I need you in D.C., the demon or demons struck again. We can actually look at the crime scene and figure out our game plan from there."

 _"Just like old times,"_ said a sleepy-voiced Dean. _"I'll be there."_

"Bring a CIA badge. My team could sniff out a fake fed from a mile away."

Dean laughed, _"Sure, Jules,"_


End file.
